Brothers, Always
by Ericka Jane
Summary: No matter what, Dean is still Sam’s older brother and older brothers look out for younger brothers. Period. Spoilers for ITGPSW. Hurt!Sam and Angst!Dean.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: No matter what, Dean is still Sam's older brother and older brothers look out for younger brothers. Period.

A/N: I needed something with brotherly love and thus this little baby was born. Set directly after ITGPSW, spoilers for that episode and a tiny bit of 'Metamorphosis'. Rated for language and violence.

_**Brothers, Always**_

If there's one thing that hasn't really changed over the years, it's Sam's dislike of bars. He hates the smell of them, the look of them and the way his shoes stick to the drying beer on the floor. Sam knows bars are a necessary evil of the hunting life, especially when it comes to obtaining money, but they were just something that he had ever gotten comfortable with. He remembers being sixteen and curling his lip up every time he entered a new small town bar with his brother, his head rebelling against the alcohol and cigarette fumes as he ignores the leering looks from the creepy people scattered in the room. The feeling had never really faded in the ten years since but his thought process had been changed drastically after Dean went to hell. After Dean died, bars became something of a second home. Part of it was because he needed cash and hustling was the easiest way to get it. Another part was because the pain in his chest hurt so bad that alcohol was the only thing he had to dull it and even with that precious liquid, the pain wasn't even close to being tolerable. The biggest part was because bars reminded him of Dean. They reminded him of his brother's swank confidence, his smirk, his smell, the way he'd say "don't worry, Sammy, I got your back" every time they entered one of the shady places. It was one of the few ways besides the Impala that he could feel just a little bit closer to his brother. So he honestly doesn't know why he still went to them after Dean came back and he definitely doesn't know why he still hustled pool, a new force of habit he guesses, but that new habit is exactly how he ended up with a face the color of a plum and a shiny new stab wound in his back.

Looking back, Sam doesn't really know what he was thinking, in more than one sense. Pulling Samhain back to hell had left him feeling more drained than he had felt in a long time. That demon was more powerful than anything he had tried to mentally exorcise before and his body was definitely feeling it. His head had a marching band from hell residing in it, complete with a drum line, and his body felt just plain worn down. And if all the physical aspects didn't suck enough, the heart breaking look Dean fixed him after the deed was done with sure took care of the rest. Even if he had the strength to explain to Dean what had happened, he knew his brother wouldn't listen to him, he knew Dean wouldn't see what Sam saw. He wouldn't see that Sam had new bruises on his face from Samhain wailing on it, he wouldn't see Ruby's knife out of reach on the floor and he wouldn't see how the demon had him by his throat, leaving him with no choice. Dean wouldn't see how much Sam didn't want to do it. What he would see is Sam using his freaky demon powers and betraying his brother, again. So after it happened, he forced himself to follow Dean back to the car, trying not to show how much his body hurt and trying to ignore the silence quickly closing in on them. The ride was short, tense and way too much for Sam to handle at that point and when the motel parking lot came into view, he thought he might die from relief. He clambered out of the car, hiding the wince that came with standing up too fast and waited for Dean to do the same. Dean didn't budge and Sam furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. He guesses he shouldn't be surprised that Dean doesn't want to follow him into the motel room to spend some more quality time in painful silence with more accusing, 'what the hell were you thinking?' looks but it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt when Dean says, "I'll be back later, don't wait up."

Sam barely gets to nod before Dean's screeching out of the motel parking lot, going in the opposite direction. Sam knew it was stupid but he couldn't help the clench of his stomach as he watched Dean leave, it felt like abandonment, like Dean wasn't coming back. It was a stupid thought because Dean wouldn't just take off and leave him, it's not Dean's style, but after Dean being gone for four months, he still gets a little wigged when Dean isn't in his eye line.

Sam blinks, realizing that he is just standing in the middle of the motel parking lot, looking like a little boy lost. He shifts his weight, unsure of what to do. His body is screaming at him to go lie down and sleep for the next fifteen hours but his battered brain is on overdrive. It comes in flashes, the fight with Samhain, the meeting with the angels, Dean's expression piercing through him. Yeah, he's not going to be getting any sleep any time soon. He drags his hand over his face and glances around, trying to decide what to do. That's when he catches the neon glow of the bar sign down the road. His feet were moving before his brain event sent the signal to go, his body moving to the neon glow like a homing beacon. When he pushes open the door to the bar, he freezes in surprise. People dressed as cowboys, policemen, saloon girls, fairies, oversized bananas, you name it, litter the bar like strategically placed cut outs. That's when it hits him that Halloween is still in full swing and it's the bar witching hour. He relaxes and chuckles at his own temporary moronic moment and makes his way to the bar counter.

He squeezes between a man dressed as an electric plug and a girl in a saucy pirate costume and tells the bar tender, "Bud, draft."

He had pretty much stopped drinking after Dean came back, figuring that his brother was consuming enough whiskey for the both of them, but it just felt wrong to be in a bar without a beer, especially when he was in said bar to hustle some pool. It's a small town and a small set up, so there's only one pool table, but that's fine with Sam, as long as there's a game in play. There is, thankfully, with two guys dressed up as zombies.

'Nice', Sam thinks wirily, 'As if there isn't enough irony in my life.'

Sam takes a moment to observe. To anyone else, they wouldn't look like much of a threat but Sam knew different. He could see the hidden muscle under the torn clothing, could tell that they had a different kind of confidence by the way they carried themselves. They could possibly be military or off duty cops, or, if Sam really wanted to go out on a limb, other hunters. Or maybe they were just old high school football players, jocks that hadn't quite lost their swagger. Whatever their profession or background, Sam knew that if he went for this, that he needed to be careful. He has enough bruises for right now, thanks.

He takes a gulp from his beer, thankful that the taste is helping chase away the ache in his head, and makes his way over to the pool table.

The two zombies are chuckling when Sam gets there, just having a swell ole' time as they alternate taking shots with the cue. They pause when they notice Sam's towering figure and Sam does his best to appear non-intimidating and a little bit tipsy.

"Hey, you need another guy?"

The two men look at Sam, then look at each other and grin. If all the other events of the night weren't enough to make Sam stop and stay at the motel, then that smile should have been the one to finally put things to rest. It didn't and zombie number one, who Sam later learned was Zeke, pushed a pool cue into Sam's hand.

"Sure, dude, let's see what you've got."

Zeke and Greg, as it turns out the other is, are cousins and Sam was right when he assumed they were a little bit more than average Joe's. After some meaningless conversation, Sam found out that they are both well trained in martial arts, like "Full on Jackie Chan shit, man."

Sam was amused by this but also cautious. There was a chance, a very large chance, that they're just bullshitting but there's also the small chance that they're not. Sam would rather just win the game quietly, leave with the money and call it a night, and forget that the holiday Halloween even exists. Sam should have known better because he never gets that kind of break.

Sam had one shot left on the table, not counting the eight ball, when Zeke and Greg finally caught on to Sam's game. Sam guesses his story of "that's so crazy! I haven't played since high school!" wasn't pulling one over anymore as he sunk the last ball in a nearly impossible shot.

"You must have been some player back in high school," Greg states, his steely eyes settling on Sam after he watches the yellow ball disappear in the pocket.

Sam knows in the back of his mind that he's been made but he shrugs, "Not really, guess luck is just on my side for once."

Sam would've missed the covert look between Greg and Zeke but years of doing the same thing with Dean made him catch it immediately. Watching the exchange sets of an extremely painful twinge in his chest as he thinks of his brother and of how things used to be between them, before things got so messed up.

Zeke turns his attention on Sam and he tenses up, waiting for a verbal or a physical confrontation. He'd already mapped out the exits, scanned the room for potential weapons, and took note of who may or may not step in to help with the wailing. That's when he noticed, with a certain amount of panic, that there was literally an exit right behind him and if Zeke and Greg were thinking what Sam thinks they're thinking, they could have him shoved out into the back alley in a few micro seconds and no one would be the wiser. Zeke and Greg were totally thinking what Sam was thinking. Sam didn't have very much time to react. His hands flung out to try and catch himself on the doorway before he was shoved out, but all that did was give him a few more scratches on his hands to go with the miscellaneous ones on the rest of his body. He went tumbling into the alley way, his tall body desperately trying to right itself before it face planted into the pavement. Thankfully, hunting had brought up his coordination and he saves himself the pain of his face meeting concrete. He stands up, gets into a defensive pose, and mentally sizes his opponents and tries to see the best way to win the fight. Then he remembers "Full on Jackie Chan shit" and his thought process falters.

Damn it.

Sam knows he's a damn good fighter. Dean and his father had taught him well and the four months that Dean had been dead had toughened him to a state that he'd rather not be in, but it helped his sparring skills. He knows that he'd be able to take on two regular guys with no problem but Sam has no idea what 'Jackie Chan shit' actually consists of and worse yet, he doesn't know what that means when there's two of them. Even with knowing this, his confidence and his stubbornness doesn't waver, letting his game face drop would only look like an invetation to get his ass handed to him.

"This doesn't have to end badly, man, just give the money back and we'll let you go with a wounded pride," Zeke says, taking a small step forward.

This is where Sam knows he should say something like, "Yeah, sure, whatever, take it," but there's a few things holding him back. One, they were running low on cash and Sam just wrung three hundred dollars out of these guys and two, there's some things that Winchesters will leave wounded, their pride is not one of them. In his head he can hear Dean scoff and say "Damn straight!" Yeah, Sam wasn't backing down from this fight.

"I won it fair and square," Sam replies, backing up even more and tightening his fighting stance.

"See, it's the 'fair' part I'm having issues with, how bout you, Zeke?" Greg asks as he draws nearer to Sam.

God these two reminded him so much of himself and Dean that it was making him sick, sick with envy and nostalgia.

"Yeah, you could say I have an issue with that part," Zeke replies almost nonchalantly but Sam can hear the dangerous undertone in his voice.

For the second time, Sam wonders exactly what he's gotten himself into. Greg moved before Sam even had a chance to parry the hit. His fist drove into the side of Sam's face, the side that Samhain had favored too, the bastard, with the force of a brick. Good God, Sam didn't think it was possible to hit that hard if you were a human, he doesn't even think that Dean hits that hard and that was honestly saying something. Sam went down like a rock but he was up quick, shaking off the stars swirling around his head as best as possible. Greg was on him in a flash, delivering a kick-punch-punch-kick combo that Sam had never even seen before let alone deflected. The attack leaves Sam panting on the ground and spitting blood. He pushes himself to his knees, leaving his heaving ribs vulnerable to assault. He realizes his mistake immediately as one of them, Sam has no idea which, kicks the open area, sending Sam sprawling. Sam grits his teeth against the pain, wondering if he imagined the snapping of a bone in his chest or not. He uses the wall to haul himself up and then quickly maneuvers himself so he's not trapped by it.

Zeke chuckles, "You got balls, kid, I'll give you that."

'Can't help it,' Sam thinks with a small smirk, 'Last name's Winchester.'

"Want to rethink handing that cash over now?" Greg asks, taking a few threatening steps forward.

Sam doesn't know if it's the latest knocks to the head, the fuzziness that had been there before, or what but for some stupid reason he says, "Sorry, think you'll have to try harder than that."

He actually blocked the next hit. Greg's fist came from his right side and Sam reacted just quickly enough to throw up his left forearm and pull back with his right fist, pushing his knuckles into Greg's nose. There was a satisfying crunch and a wail that came from Greg but his victory was short lived, because now Zeke was pissed and very much ready to beat Sam to a pulp.

Shit.

Sam held him off for a few punches and one kick but by that point he was reaching a new level of exhaustion and really, what was he thinking doing this after Samhain had worked him over? Zeke got in another good punch, one that had Sam's eye swelling shut almost immediately. Sam was on the ground again, this time spitting out blood and praying that a tooth didn't come with it.

"No one busts my cousin's nose and gets away with it," Zeke growls and Sam can see his shadow moving closer to his slouched over body.

God, he doesn't know if he's going to get out of this without landing himself in the hospital.

"Hey!"

Zeke pauses and so does Sam's breathing. He'd know that voice anywhere, the infliction, the hidden threat in it. Dean.

"Keep moving, man, you don't want to get into this," Zeke says as he moves away from Sam.

As far back as he can remember, Dean's beat every human being's ass they'd come across, be it bullies, bar flies, or guys who just needed a punch to the face, Dean has taken them down. Sam's not so sure that's going to happen this time around and that has him trying to get himself up, his heart starting to stutter in panic.

"Uh, actually I do, because that's my kid brother you're wailing on and no one gets to do that but me," Dean replies.

Sam winces and not because of the strain he's putting on his beaten body. Just last week Dean had laid into him, punching him twice in the face after finding out that Sam had lied about using his powers and had out right betrayed him. Like he did tonight. Suddenly Sam's not so sure anymore that he deserves to be saved by Dean, but that doesn't mean that he wants Dean to get his ass handed to him either.

"Dean, wait," Sam gasps but it's unheard by his brother, either that or ignored.

"Your kid brother is an idiot for hustling us and trying to take off with the money," Zeke says.

Dean chuckles lightly, "Yeah, well he is an idiot but not for hustling you bozos. Seriously, dude, zombies?"

Sam can hear Zeke growl and he finally forces himself to move, once again using the brick wall to pull himself up. Sam knows that he's not going to be much use in a fight right now, but he can catch Zeke off guard, knock him over, something, so that Dean could get the drop on him.

"Last chance, walk away," Zeke says and steps towards Dean.

Sam can see the familiar fight stance that Dean falls into and immediately knows that this is going to end either with both of them in the ER or with Zeke passed out cold. He hopes it's the later.

"Not going to happen," Dean replies easily and prepares for Zeke to attack.

Bring the fight to you, never the other way around.

Sam's trying to find the energy and vertigo to push himself off the wall when the first punch lands. To his relief, it's Dean that's smashing Zeke's face in and not the other way around, for now. Dean throws a couple of hooks and one hard cross over punch to Zeke and Zeke blocked all but the last one. Zeke went spiraling with the force of the hit and Sam can't restrain the smile that painfully splits his face. Briefly Sam wonders why Dean didn't just pull his gun on Zeke, using scare tactic instead of actually fighting, but then Sam remembers the mausoleum. Dean probably needs to let off some steam and he probably didn't get the fight he needed back when Sam was taking care of the demon. Maybe they'll get out of this in one piece after all. Sam wants to snort in sarcastic amusement but doesn't because his nose, his entire face, hurts.

Zeke recovers and swings hard at Dean, who doesn't get out of the way in time. Zeke's fist lands hard and Sam winces, knowing all too well exactly what that felt like. Dean stumbles but doesn't go down, and that makes Sam feel a little better because so far, he's doing better than Sam had done.

"Sonuvabitch," Dean grunts as he shakes off the punch, a look of surprised anger on his face.

Sam grits his teeth and pushes himself off the wall, trying to force himself to stagger over to where Zeke and Dean were brawling three yards away. From what he could tell, Dean was winning or at least holding his own, but it was a little hard to be sure with his right eye almost completely swollen shut. He makes it a yard, maybe a yard and a half and the sounds of fists and feet hitting flesh are becoming more prominent. He can't tell who's taking the brunt of the hits but at this point, it doesn't really matter. He has one mission and it's to distract Zeke, and get Dean out of the mess Sam put him in.

Sam doesn't hear the shuffling behind him; he's too concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and getting to Dean. It's a subtle sound but a dangerous one, one that just screamed foreboding. In any other situation, Sam would've been turned around in an instant at the scrap of boot against cement, but this wasn't any other situation.

He doesn't really know what's happening until it's too late. He thinks he can hear Dean shout something, it might have been his name, it might have been something else, but the sound is cut off when Zeke tackles him to the ground. Sam sees Dean go down and he stumbles as he tries to pick up his pace. Suddenly an arm shoots out from behind him and winds around his shoulders, hauling him back up…and right into the sharp end of a knife. He might have grunted or cried out when the sharp, white hot pain went through his side but he couldn't be too sure, sounds were starting to mute. He realized almost immediately what was happening because he's been here before. He remembers this kind of pain, the way things fade out, the way Dean's yelling dimmed down slowly. He was dying and it was in the same damn way it happened the first time, almost down to the detail. Yeah, irony was a bitch.

A/N: Like usual, I had intended for this to be a oneshot but it just got so fricken long that I decided it would be better to do Dean's POV in a second chapter. So this may end up being three chapters long. Or four. You never know with me.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed and added this to favorites! I'm so sorry for the late update and keep in mind that I am against death fics :) so if anyone was really and truly worried, don't be. :) Again, sorry this is so late; I am SO behind on writing it isn't even a joke anymore.

_**Brothers, Always**_

**Dean**

Dean has learned over the years that any hunt that has to do with a witch is bad news. When he was eighteen a witch hit Sam with a curse so hard that he was vomiting and leaking blood from every opening in his body for three days before their dad finally found the counter curse, right when Sammy was teetering on death. When he was twenty two Dean went on his first hunt without his brother and it was a witch in Utah taking blood sacrifices. He and his dad took care of her relatively easily but the whole time Dean was solely focused on the ache in his chest that was put there by Sam leaving for college. Then not to forget the witch episode last year when his life was literally ticking away and he got hit with a hex bag while on the job. Even now Dean's stomach clenches as he remembers how bad that had hurt before Ruby, of all people, stuffed that gross shit down his throat. This witch hunt was absolutely no different; in fact, it might even take the cake in 'worst witch hunts EVER' department. Honestly, it might not have been all that bad if all the other things in their life weren't going so horribly, but since it is, this witch hunt is just about the worst thing ever. Dean could almost care less that Samhain had risen for about thirty minutes and that another seal had been broken. What Dean does care about, first and foremost, is that Sam had used his powers again when he promised not to. The scene he walked in to, Sam holding out his hand and squeezing the demon from the host, caused a supernova explosion of emotions: disappointment, betrayal, hurt, worry, and the most painful, abandonment. It sounds stupid as all hell because Sam was right there with him but Sam isn't Sam anymore, and not even because of the demon blood inside of him. Sam isn't Sam because he had to become someone else when Dean was gone, he had to change. Now Dean's back and all he wants is for Sam to come back too, but he doesn't think his little brother is getting the memo.

After Samhain was exorcised back to hell and he locked eyes with Sam, Dean almost immediately forgave him. The apology, the 'please don't hate me' look in Sam's eyes and the slight tremble in his jaw nearly made him crumble, because it was so _Sammy_ that it almost didn't matter that Sam had just used his powers. Almost…but it still did. He didn't know what to do. He didn't want to open his mouth because he didn't want to have another show down like the one they had before the rougarou hunt. In his eyes, that fight was well justified, but that doesn't mean it was any fun for either of them. So instead, he tried to erase the emotion from his face and he turned and walked away, knowing that eventually Sam would follow him out to the Impala.

He tried so hard to keep his mouth shut in the car that his face muscles tensed up like they were injected with botox. Every fiber of his big brother being was telling him to scream at Sam, ask him why he didn't just wait for him to get there to help him out or just plain, "What the hell were you thinking?" but he stays silent. Another screaming match isn't something they need, not now.

Sam doesn't seem much more comfortable than Dean is, he's constantly shooting glances over his way like he's ready for Dean to explode and his body is as tense as a bow string. When they pull into the motel, Sam jumps out of the Impala so fast that Dean barely sees it happen. Sam's lingering outside of the car like he's waiting for Dean to follow him but Dean doesn't move. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly as he stares out ahead of him, weighing his options. He knows he's not ready to be trapped in a motel room with his younger brother. The only thing that's going to come out of that is unbearably tense silence or possibly an all out fight, neither of which he feels like going through right now.

"I'll be back later, don't wait up," The words are out of Dean's mouth before he even realizes it and he's backing out the second Sam is far enough away from the car.

He doesn't even know where he's going, doesn't know where to go, he just knows that he doesn't want to see Sam right now. It's kind of a foreign feeling because he grew up making sure Sam was always in his sight, always within his reach just in case. There was a time and it seems like a life time ago, that not having Sam in his sights would put him on the edge of panic and make his skin crawl all wrong. Watch out for Sammy, take care of Sammy, keep Sammy _safe_. It's his life, or at one point it was, things are getting kind of hazy in that department now. Dean sighs deeply and shakes his head, pushing his thoughts away from better days and forcing them on more pressing issues, like where he's going. He remembers seeing a few bars in town, which is the most promising place to be right now, but for some reason he's just not in the drinking mood. This strikes him as odd because thanks to recent events, his head is an angst ridden whirlpool just waiting for some Jack to soothe the hurt, but the idea of alcohol is making his stomach churn. Maybe he just needs to drive; he's feeling restless, itching for something to put his fist into to make up for all the emotional crap spinning inside him. But he doesn't think going out looking for a fight on Halloween is such a stellar idea, mostly because he doesn't feel like spending the night in jail.

He ends up in some pizza joint, which is damn near dead because everyone is either trick or treating or getting smashed, depending on the age group.

The gangly teenager at the counter looks so bored that misery probably looks like paradise to him, and Dean winces in sympathy. He remembers the time he had a temporary job in some no name town, and had to miss out on an awesome Halloween date because of it. Dean hated his life that night.

"What can I get you?" The teen asks, looking like he couldn't care less.

"Two slices of meat lover's and a coke," Dean says, watching as he punches the buttons on the cash register a little too hard.

"$11.52," he announces, looking at Dean expectantly.

Dean grumbles, "Christ, is it made of gold or something?" as he hands over a twenty.

The teenager snatches it from him wordlessly before handing over the change, looking pointedly at the styrofoam cup on the counter labeled 'tips.'

Dean glances at the cup before glancing at the kid, and dumps in the forty eight cents he just got back with a smug grin.

"Whatever," the teen mutters before going back to the kitchen to get the pizza.

Dean grimaces as he wonders if the kid's gonna spit in it or not but then decided that it'd be too easily to see on top of pizza, and his shoulder relax. The kid is back with his food only a few moments later and Dean shoots him a half grin, half smirk, before sitting down to inhale the pizza.

He only gets through the first piece and half his coke when things start to go really, really bad. The kid behind the corner finally got bored enough to pick up the phone, something that Dean wasn't even paying attention to until he caught part of the conversation.

"Oh man, again? God, those two are morons. One of these days someone is going to come and pull a gun on their asses. So they just pushed the kid out? Hope he's going to be ok, the last guy that hustled them lost his teeth…well if he's that tall maybe he has an advantage."

Dean pauses and his blood runs cold. There's no way. Sam's back at the motel moping, probably nursing one hell of a headache. There's no way that he's getting his ass kicked, Dean's just being paranoid…there's a lot of tall guys walking around. So then why was there a pit forming in his gut, aching worse than a sucker punch?

In an instant, Dean has his phone out, pressing speed dial one and waiting with his teeth grit in worry.

'This is Sam, leave a message…'

"Damn it, Sammy," Dean growls and slams the phone shut.

The pit in his stomach has deepened and there's a prickly feeling running all up and down his spine, burning in the worst way. Dean hasn't felt it in a while but he'd know the sensation anywhere; his Sammy alarm was going off and it was going off with a vengeance.

Dean clears his head and puts on his game face, mentally going through a check list of what needs to be done to dig Sam out of whatever mess he might be in. Step one: grill the kid on the phone for information.

"…all I'm saying is, if those two schizoids get themselves killed or thrown in prison, it wouldn't be like they didn't have it coming."

Dean stalks up to the counter and yanks the phone from the teenager's hand, who yelps with a startled, "hey!"

"You're going to tell me what you were just talking about and where it's going down, and you're not going to give me any bullshit. Agreed?" Dean asks with the phone in his hand, glaring at the teenager like a raging bull.

"Yeah, yeah ok, whatever, man," he stutters out nervously as he takes a few steps away from Dean and the counter

"Start talking."

"These two guys, Zeke and Greg, they hang out down at the bar on Canal…"

"What's it called?" Dean demands impatiently.

"Mia's," he replies instantly.

"Ok, what about these guys?"

"They're…they're idiots, ok? They have some sort of special training and they like to show it off whenever they can…"

Dean frowns, all kinds of horrible thoughts running through his head, "What kind of training? Weapons, what?"

"No, nothing like that, just hand to hand stuff but it's pretty intense. You know, stuff that would put Chuck Norris to shame," He says, relaxing more now that he realizes Dean isn't going to bash his head in.

Dean snorts and his worry dissipates one notch. To him, Chuck Norris has nothing on Winchesters. But then Dean remembers that Sam just got the snot beat out of him by a super demon and the little bit of worry that went away comes back full force.

"And these guys, they're at the bar right now showing off their ninja stuff?"

The teen nods frantically, "Yeah, some tall guy hustled them at pool and got made, they pushed him into the back alley."

"And no one went to help?" Dean exclaims, outraged.

"No way, man, Zeke and Greg? They fuck people up," he says with a 'duh' look on his face.

Dean rolls his eyes, "Perfect. Mia's on Canal, right?"

Another jittery nod from the teen and Dean is storming out of the pizza joint, and pushing the pedal to the Impala all the way to the floorboard.

Dean's adrenalin is starting to kick into high gear with fear and worry fueling it like gasoline to fire. If it turns out not to be Sam he's going to feel like a real jack ass but the tingling on the back of his neck and the shakiness in his hands has him thinking differently. Sam's getting the tar beat out of him, Dean knows it, can feel it deeper than his bones.

Irritatingly enough, Dean has to remind himself to drive slow, because it's Halloween and the last thing he needs on his conscious is a dead kid, killed by the front end of his baby. So he forces himself to crawl to Canal Street, all the while keeping an eye out for a bloody, Sasquatch sized brother. It feels like it takes forever but Dean finally spots the neon pink sign labeling Mia's, and Dean mentally smirks. Sam would pick the bar with the pink sign.

Dean makes sure that his Beretta is tucked in the back of his jeans before getting out of the Impala and stealthily making his way to the back alley.

He hears it before he sees it, the sounds of a really gnarly fight echoing against the brick buildings. He hears a punch, a grunt and the distinct sound of someone spitting the blood from their mouth. Dean's whole body is tense as he creeps along the walls, the street light from the back alley getting brighter with every step and the sounds getting more defined. He can hear someone groaning, someone breathing raggedly and someone talking.

"No one busts my cousin's nose and gets away with it."

Dean has heard that tone before because he's used it himself, when someone or something hurts Sammy. So he knows whatever is going to come next is not going to be good.

When he finally steps on to the scene, he sees what he can only describe as rage red. Sam is on the ground, struggling to get up and some guy is approaching him with deadly intent on his face. Dean can see the guy take a step back and instinctively, Dean knows he's about to deliver what would be a devastating kick to Sam's midsection, but Dean's not having it. No one is going to lay one more hand on his brother tonight.

"Hey!"

The guy stops, startled, as he turns to face Dean.

"Keep moving, man, you don't want to get into this," he says and thankfully, steps away from Sam and closer to Dean.

"Uh, actually, I do because that's my kid brother you're wailing on and no one gets to do that but me," Dean replies with a confident smirk, his entire body humming with the fight that's about to go down.

"Your kid brother is an idiot for hustling us and trying to take off with the money," The man sneers as he starts to slip into a defensive fighting stance.

Dean can't help but agree with him there because Sam has been doing some pretty idiotic things lately, but none that allow someone to beat the holy hell out of him.

"Yeah, well he is an idiot but not for hustling you bozos," Dean says then eyes the man critically, "Seriously, dude, zombies?"

The guy looks seriously pissed as he snarls, "Last chance, walk away."

Dean falls into his own fighting stance, slipping into it like a comfortable tee shirt, and replies, "Not going to happen."

Dean figures that the guy is either too pissed off to start this off right or Sam wore him down, because as he charges, Dean easily throws a hard right hook into the guy's face. He barely stumbles and comes at Dean who blocks everything before throwing his own punches, disgruntled when only one of them connects. However the hit sends his adversary to the ground in a sprawl and Dean can't help the small tug of a victory grin on his face.

Dean notices Sam inching towards him, using the wall as an anchor and he mentally slaps the kid on the back of the head. What the hell does Sam think he's doing? He obviously doesn't have the energy to stand yet alone try to get back in this. When this is all said and done, Dean's going to deliver Sam an ass kicking himself for both being dumb enough to get into this mess and for making Dean worry.

Dean's attention leaves Sam as the guy he's wailing on gets up and in a flash, drives his fist into Dean's face. Dean falters and sees stars. In a way, he guesses the kid at the pizza place wasn't lying, because it's been a long time since he's been hit that hard in the face by something that wasn't a supernatural nasty.

"Sonuvabitch," Dean mutters as he tries to straighten out his vision, which is now double.

That's when he catches sight of something that he's seen once and never wanted to see again. Suddenly the guy he's fighting doesn't matter anymore, the only thing that matters is the slim ball coming up behind Sam with a blade glinting in his hand, and Sam's completely oblivious. God, it was like it was happening all over again, like he was actually back in Cold Oak. Pavement melts away to mud, starry twinkling skies swirl into darkness and Dean can actually feel the beginning of rain hitting his face and plastering his hair. Sam's stumbling along, his injured arm cradled to his chest but his face is nothing but sheer relief, relief at seeing _Dean_. Oh God, no.

Dean shakes himself out of it and the real world comes crashing back into him like a tidal wave and he does the only thing he has time to do, the only thing he ever seems to have time to do. He yells for his little brother.

"Sammy!"

Dean knows he's too late, he knows like he knew Sam was in trouble, like he knew when Sam sunk to the ground two years ago that he was going to lose him. Dean hasn't even realized that he's been knocked to the ground and that he was about to get another fist to the face, all he knows is that he can hear Sam's pain filled grunt and can hear the blade sliding back _out_ of his brother. Suddenly Dean feels like he needs to vomit.

"Sam! God damnit, get off me, you son of a bitch!" Dean shouts as he struggles to get the goon that's on top of him off.

Dean's not afraid to play dirty now as he trusts his fist into the throat of the man on top of him, who immediately starts coughing and gasping and falls to the side of Dean. Dean scrambles to his feet and runs to his brother, who is on his knees and staring down at the dark red spot on his shirt in wonder.

Dean can feel the bile wanting to climb up his throat as he falls to his own knees in front of Sam, and all he can think is, 'No, no, no, not like this, please, anything but this.'

Sam's blinking owlishly like he just can't believe what's happened, and Dean's right there with him. He can't believe this is happening again.

"Hey, Sam, look at me," Dean says softly but urgently as he grabs a handful of Sam's shirt to keep him upright and his other hand goes to Sam's face.

Sam winces as Dean touches the bruises and cuts on his skin but he doesn't pull away.

"Dean?" Sam asks as if he's surprised that he's there.

"Yeah, dude, just hold on, ok? You're going to be alright, just hang on," Dean says soothing, not even trying to hide how his voice is shaking and how there are tears steadily making themselves known on his face.

Dean pulls off his jacket and slowly lowers Sam to the ground, muttering apologies every time Sam makes a face or moans in pain. He stuffs the jacket under Sam's head before ripping off his button up to push against Sam's stab wound.

"Hold it there, Sammy, I know it hurts but you have to slow the bleeding, ok? It's going to be ok," Dean says as he pushes Sam's hands to hold the shirt against his bleeding side.

Sam nods and Dean's hand tightens on Sam's, "You're going to be ok."

Dean keeps one hand tight over Sam's as they hold the shirt to his side and with his free hand, Dean whips out his cell phone and dials 911. He barks out his location and what happened in as little detail as possible, and hangs up, shoving the phone back in his pocket.

Dean's well aware that Zeke and Greg, he has no idea which is which, have high tailed it so that they wouldn't get caught by the cops but Dean's not worried. They'll get what's coming to them and if Sam dies…then Dean has no problem making sure that they meet the same fate.

"Dean…"

"Hey, hey, no talking, ok? Just save your strength, the ambulance is on it's way," Dean says as he push the hair back off Sam's face and discreetly pushing his fingers against Sam's neck, feeling his pulse.

Dean's panic level sky rockets as he feels how slow Sam's heart is beating and he can't help the choked cry that escapes him, along with the tears that are steadily dripping from his eyes.

"No, goddamn it, Sam, you hang on. Do you hear me? Hold. On. Don't you dare leave me again," Dean pleads as Sam's mouth opens and closes like he's trying to speak but can't, "I can't make no more deals, Sammy, the angels will yank me right back out and none of those cross roads bitches want me anymore anyways. Please, Sam."

"Sorry, Dee…" Sam gasps then coughs as blood sputter from his mouth.

"Nothing to be sorry for, Sammy, ok? Nothing. Just don't give up, come on," Dean begs as he wipes away the blood from his brother's lips.

"I tried, tried to…Dean, I'm sorry," Sam chokes as some more blood dribbles from his mouth.

Dean immediately wipes it away and tries to fight how his chest wants to freeze in sheer terror, and how he's just seconds away from letting out gut wrenching sobs.

Suddenly Dean sees the most beautiful thing in the world, red and blue lights bouncing off the walls around him. He let's out a hoarse laugh and turns his attention back to Sam.

"See, Sam? They're here, you're going to be just fine, little brother. You hear me? You're going to be fine," Dean says, desperately praying that he's telling Sam the truth.

But Sam's eyes aren't open. In fact, Sam's not breathing at all.

"Sam?" Dean asks as he moves his fingers back to Sam's pulse point, his whole arm shaking with dread.

Dean can feel Sam's last heart beat pump under his fingers before it stills completely and just like that, Dean's entire world crashes for the second time.

"Sammy, no!" Dean cries out desperately as he immediately starts CPR, "You don't get to do this again! You hear me? Breathe, goddamit!"

Dean puts his mouth to Sam's, frantically pushing air into his lungs, before he straightens up again and continues compressions.

"Sam!"

That's how the paramedics and police found Dean, with him pushing on his brother's chest and sobbing out pleas for his brother to come back.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks everyone! So here we are with yet ANOTHER really late update, sorry about that everyone. I'm behind on stories gain. It's because I keep getting attacked by violent, unrelenting plot bunnies, so I end up getting really distracted lol. I'll try to do better. Oh, and I did warn against language, didn't I? Just want to mention that because Dean gets pissed in this chapter lol.

P.S. I know little to nothing about human anatomy and what happens when something messes with your insides. I skipped anat and phys in high school due to the fact that I didn't want to dissect the (required) cat. So, any mistakes regarding medical jargon are mine.

P.S.S. I love Castiel to death, I really do, but I made him a jerk in this. Don't crucify me, it's just for plot's sake lol.

**Brothers, Always**

**Dean**

_The lower part of his liver and his large intestine took most of the hit. I'm surprised he survived the surgery, to be honest with you, since he coded at the scene. It was pretty touch and go for a while, we lost him for a moment, but he got through it. Since his liver was nicked, we were mostly concerned about the internal bleeding. We managed to stop it but there is always a possibility that it will start again. Now the major concern is his concussion and how long he was without oxygen at the scene. More than three minutes and there is usually permanent brain damage, any more than that and it's almost guaranteed that he won't wake up. Do you understand what I'm saying, son? Sam's in a coma and he may not wake up. You might want to make some arrangements, prepare for the worst. I'm sorry._

Dean's not sure which emotion to deal with first. There's panic pressing on his chest so hard and tight that he's struggling to breathe. There's grief that's intensely tugging at his heartstrings even though Sammy's still breathing. There's confusion because Dean doesn't understand how Sam coded not just once but twice before he slipped into an undisturbed, possibly final sleep. Then there's the red hot rage pulsing through his body after the Doc suggests he make arrangements for Sam, because he's trying to tell him that his brother is going to die, for real this time.

Dean immediately dismisses it with a soft, near tears sniff and a stone cold expression. Sam isn't dying. There's no way. The only thing Dean's going to prepare for is revenge against two unfortunate souls who'd better start praying, because they made the worst mistake of their lives hurting Dean Winchester's little brother. Yeah, blood is going to spill and heads are going to roll, Dean's going to make sure of that. But first he's going to make sure that Sam walks out of this hospital on his own free will because there's no way he's burning his brother, it's not going to happen. Dean doesn't care if he has to make another crossroads deal, go back to hell in ten years or even today; Sam's not going to die.

Dean shuffles the chair he's sitting in closer to the hospital bed, causing the metal feet to screech painfully against the floor. One of Dean's hands goes to Sam's lax palm and the other goes to Sam's head, his fingers carding through his brother's hair.

It's easy to forget about the past few painful months like this, with Sam looking younger than he actually is and all the vengeful, hateful emotion erased from his face. Dean hates that the only reason he looks like this is because he's balancing between life and death, but he can't deny that it's not nice to see. He misses his little brother, the kid who was only concerned about saving people, denying his psychic gift, and being brothers with Dean. Things obviously changed drastically when he went to hell, for both of them, and Dean wonders if everything that's so muddled and broken will ever right itself.

Dean sighs deeply and grabs a hold of Sam's hand tighter, "We really screwed this up, huh, bro?"

Dean's honestly not sure if he's referring to the botched hunt, the street fight they were just in (and lost), or the torn relationship between them. Probably all of the above.

"I was so pissed at you…but you probably already knew that," Dean starts and then swallows, "You know I'm not good with emotions, even worse now that I've been downstairs. Which I guess isn't such a bad thing because you don't seem to be in much of a sharing mood now days anyways."

Dean pauses and stares at Sam, who's shown no reaction at all. Briefly Dean wonders if he's talking for Sam or if he's talking for himself.

"But I don't know, Sammy. I just don't know what to do anymore. You're scaring the shit out of me, you know? I just don't want to see you get hurt. Bang up job on that, huh?"

Dean stops because his throat is closing at the memory of a knife sliding into Sam's side, blood bubbling out of his brother's mouth. He has to swallow to clear his airway again.

"You don't have to be who you were over the summer. I know it's not that easy, we've both changed, but you don't have to watch your own back anymore. I'm here, Sammy, and I'm not going anywhere, I promise. You just have to wake up, ok?"

_Hiss whoosh hiss whoosh_. Sam's oxygen supply is the only reply he gets other than that, the room is unearthly still and quiet, and Sam still looks like he could reach out and touch death. Dean holds his hand tighter, thinking that maybe he can keep his brother grounded if he didn't let go. Four hours later when Dean finally falls into an extremely light sleep, his hand is still connected with Sam's.

It takes seventeen days, three CT scans, a doctor offering to pull the plug and being escorted off the property for assault for Dean to finally lose it.

After security manhandles him outside, he leans over the safety railing in front of him and vomits over the side of the ambulance dock. Combine the sounds of him puking and the sounds of him sobbing and he's sure he makes a pretty pathetic scene, one that under normal circumstances would be really humiliating. However these aren't normal circumstances and Dean just doesn't care who sees him fall apart. That's not all he doesn't care about. He doesn't care that he's as weak as a kitten because he hasn't been eating or sleeping. He doesn't care that he's sporting a new beard and that there's alarmingly dark smudges under his eyes. He doesn't care that the apocalypse is still pounding on their door and Dean hasn't lifted a finger in over two weeks to stop it. What Dean does care about is the fact that Sam isn't getting better and the doctors are losing faith in the fact that he might wake up.

"_Dean, Sam's stats are getting lower. We're doing all we can but he's losing the fight. We will do everything we can but if things don't turn around soon…you should think about what Sam would want, if he'd want to be kept alive. I know pulling the plug isn't easy…"_

That's when Dean had hit him, hard, because there's no way he's pulling the plug. That would mean that Sam would die. That would mean that he failed.

"Dean."

Dean wipes his face to get rid of the remaining tears and spit, and turns slowly.

Castiel's eyes narrow in masked concern, "You do not look well."

Dean's not in the mood for small talk, in fact, he not really in the mood for anything other than making sure Sam wakes up from his coma.

"Bring him back," Dean says, coming out as more of a plea than anything.

Castiel tilts his head like he doesn't understand or like he wants Dean to keep talking.

"Sam. Bring him back, please. He's not…he's not waking up, and I need him to. I can't do this without him, I don't want to. Please, you have to."

He's not above begging at this point. In fact, if Castiel asked that he get down on his knees and lick his holy feet, he'd do it, if he brought Sam back.

"Dean…"

"No!" Dean shouts, fury and desperation rushing over him like a tidal wave, "Don't use that voice, that apologetic 'I can't do shit' voice! Bring. Him. Back."

"I can not do anything, my orders are as such," Castiel replies.

"Screw your damn orders! If you want me to take any part in this save the world crap, you'll save my brother and make sure he is in one piece!" Dean rages as he wildly points a finger in the hospital's direction.

"He doesn't want to wake up," Castiel counters softly.

Dean freezes, wondering if he heard the angel right and praying that he didn't, "What are you talking about?"

"My orders are to leave Sam Winchester be, to let him make his own choice about waking or not," Castiel clarifies as Dean stares at him with horrified eyes, "And he does not want to come back."

Dean swallows and tries to press on against the hole in his chest that burns like acid, "Like I said, you can take your orders and shove them up your feathery ass. Sam's waking up, whether he wants to or not."

Then Castiel gets this look on his face, a look that closely resembles the one he wore when he threatened to throw Dean back in the pit. Dean wonders if 'feathery ass' was such a good choice of words. However, nothing could've prepared Dean for Castiel's next words.

"And what exactly would he be waking up to? A world that he's helping destroy? The demon that's poisoning him?" Then Cas narrows his eyes, "Or his brother, who is doing nothing to save him?"

Dean blinks, his thoughts pin balling between, 'What's his deal?' to 'Like hell I'm not doing anything.' But he couldn't really defend himself, not really, not when Cas was right. If he wasn't, then Sam wouldn't be lying half dead in the hospital.

"I warned you to stop Sam or we would, his time is due," Castiel continues when Dean doesn't answer.

Suddenly, Dean's angry. Not the kind of angry that he was two seconds ago, but the kind of white hot rage that only comes over him when someone threatens Sam and suggests there's nothing that can be done about it. It's the kind of anger that he only unleashes on Supernatural beasties and crazy backwoods hicks. It's the kind of anger that he'd unleash on the angel if he thought it'd get him somewhere other than dead or worse, hell. He can't save Sam if he's dead or getting cozy with hellfire again.

But it was this anger that snapped him out of his 'woe is me' attitude and thrust him right back in to being Dean Winchester, the one that's been missing since May 2, 2008.

The thing is, he's been looking out for Sam for a long time, way before angels got thrown into the mix. He's spent his entire life making sure that Sam got to school ok, that bullies got what was coming to them the second they set their sights on his little brother, and that he was between Sam and whatever threat was charging at them. This is no different. Angels want his brother dead, his brother who is already giving up the fight and is lying there like a piece of meat for the wolves. It's not going to happen, not while Dean's still breathing.

Dean lets out a huge gust of air from his nose and then smacks on a half smirk, "Know what? Screw this, I'm outta here."  
"Where are you going?" Castiel demands as he watches Dean turn on his heel.

"I've got a brother to save, Chuckles, where the hell do you think I'm going?" Dean throws back, his stride not slowing or pausing in the slightest.

It took some doing but Dean managed to slither back into the hospital undetected by security. He knows that he's not out of the woods yet, if Sam's doctor or nurse spots him in the room, he'd be screwed but until then, he has work to do.

Dean stands at the end of Sam's bed and stares at his brother intently, taking in his pale skin and sunken cheeks.

"I'm going on faith that you can hear me somewhere, bro, and here's the thing," Dean starts determinedly, "Cas is telling me you're not waking up and that you don't want to. Normally I'd tell you 'too damn bad, wake your sorry ass up and get out of that bed.' But I know that you don't do too well with orders."

Dean smiles affectionately as he thinks of Sam's rebellious, overly independent attitude, "So I'm going a different route and I sure as hell hope you can hear me, because you're never getting this kind of chick flick moment again," Dean pauses and then, " I need you, Sammy. I don't care about your powers, what you've been doing with Ruby, or whatever. I don't care. You're my brother and there's still nothing I wouldn't do for you, you hearin' me? There's still no one else I want watching my back. But we can't fix it Sam, not with you lying there like a bump on a log, so you need to wake up. Ok?"

He didn't know what he was expecting but he tried not to be disappointed when all he got was more _woosh hiss woosh_ of the ventilator. But he wasn't going anywhere and he wasn't giving up.

"Not going anywhere, Sammy, and neither are you. I won't stand for that rolling over and giving up crap, and I know if I was you, you wouldn't either."

Dean plants himself back in the chair next to Sam's bed, promising himself that nothing was going to move him from it, not angels, the apocalypse or second rate hospital security. He was back on big brother duty.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Holy crap were there ever typos in the last chapter, I'm surprised no one pointed them out lol. I guess it was another one that I wrote at ass o'clock in the morning and posted it thinking that I was impenetrable to sleep deprivation. Thank you to everyone who reviewed and supported, as Dean would say, you're awesome.

Brothers, Always

**Sam**

If Sam had to guess what it was like to be on acid while being completely hammered, this would be it. It's like being there but at the same time not, and he has no idea which way is up and which way is down, or if there even is an up or down. The darkness that he's spinning in gets interrupted occasionally with bright, fluid bursts of color that remind him of the Northern Lights. His insides feel like they're freezing, like frost is settling over his organs but his skin his alarmingly hot. Sam wonders if this is what dying slowly is like, if this is the experience that he missed out on the first time. Then he realizes that he's not scared. Where ever this place is, whether he's alive, dead or on his way to being dead, it feels safe and it's peaceful. It's a feeling that he hasn't felt in a long time and he's drawn to it, like a bug to a lantern.

Without warning or apparent reason, the air around him shifts, like he's entered a completely different gravity field. Wind rushes around his head like he's caught in a storm or free falling from a scary height. Suddenly white light explodes around him and the wind picks up, sending a bolt of fear right into Sam's stomach. The feeling quickly passes into pain, however, as he crash lands hard onto something solid. The force of the impact steals the air right out of Sam's lungs and he freezes, too physically stunned to move. He gasps and heaves as he fights to get oxygen back into his body. When he finally does, he curls in on himself in attempt to relieve the sharp pain in his chest.

"Sorry about the drop, there's no easy way to get to this place," a voice from above him says and from the corner of his eye, Sam sees a hand offered to help pull him up.

With effort, Sam moves his arm and lets the stranger haul him up straight. The movement sends another starburst of pain through his back and chest, and Sam gasps.

"I know. You'd think that being here would make everything pain free, but for some reason, everyone feels the fall," The voice says conversationally.

Curiosity wins over pain and Sam forces himself to look straight to see who, or what, is talking to him.

He's just a normal looking guy with spiky light brown hair, blue eyes and a small, flat mole next to his left eyebrow, and preppy mall clothes. Sam stares and blinks, trying to get his mind to catch up while his body recuperates.

"Who are you?" Sam mutters, wincing as he tries to stand up straighter.

"Name's Ethan," he says and extends his hand, "I'm your guardian."

Sam alternates between staring at Ethan's hand and face, trying to quickly flip through the rolodex in his head so he can figure out just what in the hell a 'guardian' is.

"S'ok, I get that a lot," Ethan says with a smile as he takes back his hand, "We'll try again later."

Sam blinks again, "Where am I?"

Ethan shrugs, "Some say it's a level of consciousness, others argue it's an actual alternate plane. I like to keep it simple and call it the Waiting Room."

"And what is that?" Sam asks, glancing around.

"Kinda like Purgatory or Limbo just not as shit-your-pants terrifying," Ethan replies with a crooked grin.

Sam doesn't know if he agrees with that as he takes a good look around. He's standing on a slate gray floor that's probably thirty feet by thirty feet and that's absolutely it. There are no walls, no ceiling, and no furniture. And underneath the floor is absolutely nothing, it just falls into inky blackness.

"Right," Sam breathes as he swallows, taking a few solid steps away from the edge, "And you're a…guardian?"

Ethan smiles brightly, "Yeah, I'm here to keep you company until you figure out what you're going to do."

"Do?" Sam echoes and furrows his brow, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you know why you're here, right? You know what's happening to you?" Ethan asks rhetorically.

Sam shakes his head slowly. He can't really remember much of anything besides being caught in a bad trip from the 60's.

"Oh man, really?" Ethan asks and runs his hand through his hair, sighing, "You got knocked around pretty good, man. Stab wound, a few good hits to the head, busted ribs, ringing any bells?"

Yeah, it was. Sam remembers the bar, Zeke and Greg, a few flashes of Dean and a whole 'lotta pain.

"He stabbed me in the back," Sam whispers loudly as the pieces fall together, "Am I dead?"

"Not quite," Ethan replies, "Coma."

"Then why am I not a spirit? When Dean was in a coma his spirit stuck around the hospital, why am I not there?" Sam demands, point off into the blackness as if he has any idea where reality really is.

"Whoa, calm down, dude. I don't pick and choose who comes here, I just guard them," Ethan says with his hands up in defense.

"Yeah, you keep mentioning that. What does that even mean?" Sam asks, narrowing his eyes, "Are you a guardian angel?"

Ethan lets out a short, amused laugh, "An angel? No way, man. You've met those guys, right? Total pricks. No, just guardian, one step bellow Reaper and way nicer."

"And you're here to…"

"Help you choose," Ethan finishes.

"Choose?"

"Life or death, dude, the big decision," Ethan says, smiling, "It's a toughie, some people want help."

Sam blinks, trying to get his brain to work through the information. He figures he has two choices: believe this guy Ethan, make his choice and move along, or not believe him and figure that this is all in his head, and a complete product of all the drugs the hospital must be pumping him with. His logic is leading him to the product of drugs theory.

"How do I know you're even real?" Sam asks.

"You can always try walking off the edge of this floor to see what happens," Ethan says with a knowing smirk.

Sam glances over the edge of the floor again to see it drop off into nothingness, and decides that real or not, he's fine staying right where he is.

"So are you going to humor me?" Ethan asks, his voice tickling with amusement.

Sam glares.

"I'll take that as a yes," Ethan says, not at all bothered by the glower, "So…"

"I'm going back," Sam interrupts fiercely, "I still need to do something."

"Put on the breaks, dude. Have you even thought about this? I mean, do you even remember what it's like out there?" Ethan asks as he starts to circle around Sam, "Your relationship with your brother is completely on the rocks, damn near annihilated. The angels want you dead so in reality, you might just end up back here anyways. The apocalypse is coming and oh yeah, you're completely mutating your blood into demon DNA. What part of that sounds like fun to you?"

Sam's nostrils flare in anger as his throat works against traitorous tears. None of it sounds like fun. In fact, Sam's thought about biting a bullet so many times that he's lost count.

"And what, you want to go back to kill that chick Lilith? Man, it's not even worth it. Say you kill her, ok? What then? Dean still hates you, you're still on your way to becoming something not so human, and then what do you have left?" Ethan continues as Sam fights with his emotions.

Sam looks up at that and stares at Ethan, who looks like he's actually waiting for a reply. Then Ethan shakes his head, "She isn't worth destroying yourself over. And that Ruby chick? Bad. News. Come on, Sam, don't you think you've paid enough debts? Don't you think you've lost enough? It's done for you up there, man, just let it go."

"I thought you said you were here to help me choose, not make the decision for me," Sam fires back harshly.

"You're the only one who can make the final say. I'm just here to tell it like I see it," Ethan shrugs, "Some times it takes an outsider to make people see the truth."

Sam swallows. He can't deny that everything the Guardian said was true, painfully so, but that doesn't mean he's going to give in. He's put too much into his revenge to just let it go and Dean…he can't leave Dean up there to fight the big fight alone.

"I can't leave my brother," Sam says firmly, "He wouldn't leave me."

Ethan gets this sad, pitying look on his face, "I know how you feel, Sam, I do. But Dean was ready to leave you. He's already let you go. Come on, you can't tell me that you don't know that you two are barely hanging by a thread, and when he finds out, _really_ finds out what you've been doing?"

Ethan pauses and lets that sink in before he continues, "There's no reason to hurt each other anymore. He'll be ok, he's got angels at his back, remember?"

Sam doesn't answer, he just swallows and looks down, wondering why he's even considering letting this happen. The little voice inside him is saying it's because Ethan's right. He's so tired of fighting, so tired. He's tired of darkness and pain, of fighting just to stay human and keep being Dean's brother. He's tired of watching Dean hurt and not being able to fix it, tired of Dean pushing him away like he couldn't care less. Some days it all hurts so much he can't stand it. Some days, he wants to find that final kamikaze mission. And isn't that what Lilith is? The final hunt? Dean'll take care of her, there's no way he'd let a demon that big go. But the question is, can Sam let it go?

"I'll go to hell," Sam replies softly, his voice clogged with tears, "There's no way they'll let me into heaven."

Ethan shrugs, "That's not my department. But there are more planes than just heaven and hell, you know? Like, you could stay here forever if you want to, lost in coma land."

Sam shakes his head, "It'd kill Dean, he'd never be able to let go."

"Then we're back to square one. What's it going to be, Sam? You jumping or are you going back?"

Sam looks back into the emptiness below him and then back at Ethan, wondering if he has the courage to jump or not.

**Dean. **

It's been two days since Dean marched into Sam's room and demanded that his little brother wake up and get with the program. Since then he's made an effort to get himself back together as well. He shaved, ate some real food and called Bobby. With the huge mess he's in, Dean forgot all about Bobby and cringed to think what the man would say once he got him on the phone. He wasn't disappointed.

"What the hell do you mean Sam's been in a coma for three weeks? You forget how to use a phone, boy? Or am I just last on your damn Christmas list? Where the hell are you?"

"La Pine, Oregon," Dean says, "But, you don't have to…"

"If you know what's good for you, you'll shut up. I'll be there by tomorrow, at the latest, don't even think about arguing."

On the other end of the line, Dean blinks.

Bobby sighs, "Keep your head on, Dean, we'll figure something out. Just don't do anything stupid until I get there, you idjit."

Click.

The whole conversation lasts about one full minute, with Dean only getting in a few sounds and words in through the whole thing. He expected nothing less and he'd be lying if he said he didn't have a smile on his face when he hung up the phone. Bobby is coming, he knows how to fix things, they'll be ok. Or at the very least, Dean won't be alone in the silence any more.

True to his word, Bobby's there the next day.

"Talked to Sam's Doctor, told em' I was your Uncle. He gave me the run down," Bobby says as he claps a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"They wanted me to pull the plug," Dean says, feeling hot hellfire burn in his stomach at the memory.

"He told me that too," Bobby answers and then squeezes Dean's shoulder, "We ain't letting him go, Dean, not unless we have to."

Dean nods thankfully and exhales. If he has anything to say about it, they'll never have to.

"What do we do? Psychic, medium, voodoo, mojo, what?" Dean asks as he sits back in his chair next to Sam's bed.

"You talk to any angels lately?" Bobby asks in return.

Dean's expression darkens, "Yeah, lot of good it did. Castiel told me that Sam doesn't want to wake up and that he isn't going to do shit about it. I'd choke him with his damn halo if I thought it'd do me any good."

"So Sam's taking a vacation and he doesn't plan on flying back?" Bobby reiterates.

"I guess."

Bobby falls quiet and Dean's eyes narrow, "I know that look. You know something or you think you know something, what is it?"

"I'm not saying that it'll work, it might even be downright dangerous…"

"Skip the gloom and doom," Dean demands impatiently.

Bobby shoots him a warning glower, "It's a bonding spell."

Dean blinks, "Bonding as in?"  
"As in you'll be exchanging vows in no time," Bobby replies sarcastically with an eye roll, "It's a spiritual thing. In theory, you should be able to follow Sam's essence to see where he is, and if he can come back. It's temporary."

Dean rubs his hand over his face and then trails in through his hair roughly, "Ok, what's this spell take?"

Bobby shrugs, "Not much. Your blood, his blood, a few herbs, candles and some latin."

"It's gonna be hard to pull off in a hospital room," Dean says as he frowns, his eyes dancing over the room.

"Well, since you've spent the past three weeks with your ass glued to that chair, I'm assuming you know all the schedules for rounds," Bobby snarks, his lingering irritation from being on the 'last to know list' still burning.

"Yeah," Dean replies with a thoughtful frown, "3 am should be a good time, things start to really slow down around then."

"Ok, that's four hours from now. I have what we need down in the truck, I'll be back up with it, we'll stash it in the room somewhere 'til it's time," Bobby says as he starts to move to the door.

Dean sinks down in his own chair in relief and Bobby frowns, "Don't get your hopes too high. We have no idea if Sam's even in his own head. There's a lot of theories about where you go when you're between life and death."

"Yeah, I know," Dean says and swallows, "But I have to believe that something'll work. He never gives up on me, not even when I'm being a complete dick, and I'm not going to do it to him. He's not dying, I'm not going to let him."

Bobby sighs softly and nods, turning to go out to the parking garage.

Alone in the silence again with the ever present _whoosh hiss whoosh _sound, Dean grabs Sam's wrist, "You'd better be in there, Sammy, cause I'm coming in to pull your ass out of la-la land, whether or want to go or not."

The last nurse comes in at 2:43 a.m, Dean knows because he's been watching the clock like a hawk for the last three hours or so. She comes in, checks Sam's stats, smiles and Dean and then leaves.

Dean's bouncing around the room like a two year old hopped up on sugar the second she's out the door.

"Come on, Bobby," Dean practically whines as he double checks to make sure no one else is going to come in any time soon.

Bobby shoots him a warning look.

"I'm sorry, it's just…it's been three weeks," Dean finishes pathetically.

It's on the tip on Bobby's tongue to remind Dean that if he had called sooner, it wouldn't have been three weeks, but he knows that's not what Dean needs to hear right now.

"Yeah, I know," Bobby mutters as he finishes stringing together the herbs they need, "sit down."

Dean immediately sits and looks at Bobby expectantly. Bobby takes the rope of herbs he's made and slings it around Dean's neck, who looks down at it like it's a snake.

"I'm having a bad Christmas flashback," Dean grumbles as he smells the herbs and wrinkles his nose, "at least that stuff smelled good. What is this crap?"

"Marigold, Mugwort, Myrrh, Plantain, and Wormwood," Bobby replies as he hands Dean a knife, "Sam first, then you."

"Gonna be hard to explain a new, random cut on coma patient," Dean says as he hesitantly makes a shallow cut on Sam's hand.

Bobby doesn't reply and Dean makes a cut on his own hand, barely wincing at the sting as the red line wells with blood.

"Remember, when you grab his hand, make sure that you're thinking about nothing except Sam. Any other thought might send you in a weird, bad direction," Bobby says as he shifts the book he's holding in his hands.

"That's comforting," Dean replies as he rolls his eyes, "Just tell me when."

Bobby shrugs, "Whenever you're ready, just make sure that you're solely concentrated on Sam."

Honestly, that's not going to be too hard, because during the last three weeks, his brother has been the only thing he's been thinking about. Dean takes a deep breath and grabs on to Sam's hand, making sure that their blood touches, and he thinks about Sam. He thinks about the bad, the good and the in between, what's changed and what's the same, what's going to be different when he gets his little brother back. The room slowly gets dark as Bobby's voice dims, and Dean instinctively holds on to Sam's hand tighter, as if he's scared that they'll get separated if he doesn't hold on.

The next thing he knows, Dean's rocket launching through blackness, unable to breathe from the force of it, and then he collides with something rock hard. The impact makes pain explode through his whole body and he swears he can actually feel his skeletal system rattle.

"Holy shit," Dean breathes inaudibly as he curls up on his side, trying to find a way to make the pain dull so that he can move.

It takes a few minutes but eventually it fades, and he's finally able to move. Dean sits up slowly and glances around, doing an inventory of his surroundings. He's really not happy with what he sees. First of all, he's on a free-floating floor in freakin' space and second, Sam's sitting on the edge of said floor with his legs dangling off the ledge. Dean keeps his eyes glued to Sam's back as he pushes himself to his feet. He swallows and risks a glance over the edge, just to confirm his suspicions and yep, nothing down there but pitch black and alarming nothingness. Slowly, Dean makes his way over to Sam, making sure to make enough noise so that Sam isn't startled.

"Sam?" He asks softly as soon as he's close enough for Sam to hear.

"Hey, Dean," Sam replies, not turning around, "Ethan told me you were coming."

"Who's Ethan?" Dean demands as he immediately looks around for the possible enemy that Sam's talking about, but there's nothing but the floor and vast emptiness.

"Long story," Sam says and then falls quiet.

Dean shuffles closer, wondering how close he can get and how far away he can be while still being close enough to grab Sam if he goes over.

"What are you doing here?" Dean asks, deciding that three feet or so is the closest he should get in order not to spook Sam.

Sam shrugs and replies flatly, "Thinking about jumping."

Dean freezes, horror and panic blasting over his skin like ice, freezing his heart, "What?"

"Jumping," Sam repeats as if it's the most mundane thing ever, "If I want to leave, I have to jump."

Dean breathes harshly a few times, trying to restart his vital organs, before he tries to speak, "You can't do that."

"I should," Sam immediately repeats, "He was right. He was right about everything."

"Who was?"

"Ethan. He said that no matter what I do, I have nothing left. No matter what I do, I'm not the same anymore and I never will be. So why would I want to stay? Why would I want to when there's nothing left up there but pain?" Sam asks and shakes his head, "I'm so tired, Dean, I'm so tired of it."

Dean's said and thought the same thing himself, a few different times. When their dad died, when he thought Sam was infected with the Croatoan virus, when he was stuck in his own idea of the perfect world, when he knew he was going to hell, when he came back from hell, just last week; he's wanted to give up so many times he's lost count. Who the hell is he to tell Sam not to when it's all he's wanted to do for the past three years? A hypocrite, and a selfish one at that. But he doesn't care.

"I know you're tired," Dean finally says, his voice steady but barely disguising his panic, "I am too, but this isn't the way, Sam. This is never the way. We do it together, remember? We fight through this stuff together."

Dean dares to shuffle closer because he doesn't like the way this is going, but he's startled backwards as Sam suddenly stands up and whips around to face him. The big brother inside Dean hurts a little as he takes in Sam's tear stained face, hollow, desperate eyes and shaking hands. Instinctively, he moves a little closer, "Sammy…"

"We fight together? That's real rich, coming from you," Sam says as he snorts, "All we've done since you've come back is fight each other, avoid each other and push each other away. So don't you dare come down here demanding that I come back with you, saying that we're in it together when you've been a better brother to damn liquor bottles than you have been to me!"

Dean blinks in shock as anger starts to build up in his stomach. He quickly pushes the offending feeling down because here and now is not the place to get in a fight, not when Sam's already ready to jump.

"Why are you even here, Dean?" Sam asks brokenly, a vast difference from the rage that was pouring off him moments ago.

People talk about moments when the realize something, something big, but they never really say that it feels like a freight train hitting you at full speed ahead. It feels like that only worse because, god, he's just now getting it. Things are so bad between them that Sam really thought that he'd just let him go, that he didn't even care that Sam's hanging in limbo, only a thought away from taking the leap. Sam thinks he wants him dead.

"How can you even ask me that, Sammy? You really think I'd just leave you behind? You're my brother," Dean replies, his voice hitching.

Sam laughs without humor, "The brother you want to hunt? The one who probably doesn't even have the same blood as you, never did?"

"That's not true, don't you dare even think it!" Dean demands with conviction as he takes another step forward. Sam takes one more step back, closer to the ledge.

"Yes it is, Dean, and you know it. Demon blood, that's what's in me and it's never coming out. Not ever."

"Damnit, I don't care! I don't care what's in you or what you think you are, we're brothers and I'm not letting you die!" Dean shouts with conviction, "You wouldn't let me and I'm not letting you, not again."

"But I did," Sam whispers as more tears flow down his cheeks, "I did let you die and it screwed everything up."

Dean's own throat and heart constricts, "Sammy, it wasn't your fault. I told you that even before I was a hell hound's chew toy."

"But it's true. If I had saved you, if I had stopped it…we'd never be here, and you...we'd, be ok. And it's like it doesn't stop. You're here and I know you're here, but up here," Sam points to his head and then to his chest, "And here, it just doesn't compute. Sometimes, when I wake up, I forget, and it's like…like I failed all over again."

And god, the hits just keep coming.

Dean shakes his head, "This needs to stop, Sam."

Sam nods, "I know, that's why I'm jumping. You'll be ok, better, without me."

Sam takes one more step backwards and Dean feels like his heart is literally going to pound right out of his chest.

"Stop! No, no that's not what I meant! Christ, Sam, just…come back this way, would you? Please," Dean pleads, pure desperation pouring out of his mouth as he takes a few instinctive steps forward.

Sam doesn't move, just stares at Dean with an expression that he can't really decode, and that really bothers Dean, because he's always been able to know what his little brother has been thinking.

"Please, Sammy?" Dean says again when Sam doesn't do anything to help release the tight knot in his chest, "it's all wrong, I know it is, but I don't want to do it without you, not ever."

One more step back, "it's not that easy anymore. We've changed too much."

"It doesn't have to be like that. I'm sorry, ok? I'm sorry it turned out this way but you can't do this. Bobby? Bobby will kill me if I come back without you. And what's the car going to think? Huh? You know she's half yours, she'll think you abandoned her."

What Dean really means to say is 'please don't leave me to do this alone, I need you, and I'll be even more lost than I am now.' He doesn't think he needs to say it, if their brother speak is still intact. He prays that he's not wrong.

Half a step backwards and Sam shakes his head, "You say that now but up there? Everything's different there."

"Not this time, ok? I promise," Dean says as he takes an answering step to Sam's.

He's too close now, too close to the edge of the floor and falling into pure blackness, into death. He doesn't care what he has to say now because all he can think of, all he can see is Sam moving closer and closer to the ledge and not listening to a thing Dean's saying.

"What if you're wrong? What if this is the only way?" Sam asks, heels practically balancing on the ledge.

Hot tears burn behind Dean's eyes and cool as they fall down his skin, "There's never just this way. We'll figure it out, right? We always do. Me and you, Sam, the way it's always been."

Dean takes one more step closer, he's now an arm length away from Sam, if not a little closer. For a moment, Dean actually thinks Sam is going to let him grab him and pull him away from the edge, but then something happens. Dean doesn't know if Sam actually moved to make that final step or if he just shifted wrong but one second Sam was firmly on the ground and the next, he was toppling over, flailing to re-catch his balance.

"Sammy!" Dean shouts as he immediately moves forward, faster than he thought possible, to steady Sam's balance.

But he's too late. Sam's bigger than he is and his backwards momentum was too much to control, and Sam falls over the edge, taking Dean with him.

A/N: I know this went in a…weird direction, but no matter how many times I tried to re-write it, some version of this came out. So, that being said, I hope you like it and if not, that's cool too. You know the drill, let me know what you think! And thank god hellatus is done next week, right? Man, I've been dying.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: So this is the last chapter plus the epilogue, so I have to tell you all how amazing you are for reviewing, adding this to your alerts and sticking with me. Seriously, thank you.

P.S. Supernatural is back! Can I get a hell yeah?! Hell yeah.

* * *

Brothers, Always

**Dean**

Dean gasps as the air is forcefully sucked out of his lungs. It feels like there's an invisible energy pushing on his chest, compacting and crushing it relentlessly, killing him slowly. Just as his rib cage starts to burn and pull from the lack of oxygen, his whole being slams backwards, making him physically start. When he opens his eyes, chest heaving, the first thing he sees is Bobby standing over him with wide, panicked eyes. Then he notices that Bobby's mouth is moving but Dean isn't hearing any sound. He frowns and tries to shake the cotton from his head. Slowly but surely sounds start to come back. First, a constant, high pitched, frantic beeping comes into focus, and then Bobby shouting his name, then the sounds of a small crowd. For a moment he can't figure out what he's missing or what's going on, it's like there's nothing but a blank white wall in his head. But as the wailing of the machines grows louder and more distinct, it hits him like a gunshot. Sam had gone over the edge and pulled Dean with him.

"Sammy!" Dean shouts as he struggles to sit up but finds that he can't, because hands are holding him down, "Sonuvabitch, get off me! Sam!"

_OhGodOhGodOhGod _Sam went over the edge. There's no way he made it back alive. He said that jumping meant death. He'd gone over, he's dead, Christ, Sam's dead. What now? What is he supposed to do _now_?

"Damn it, Dean, hold still!" Bobby demands as he struggles to contain Dean's thrashing, "He's ok! Sam's ok, he's alive. But your nose is bleeding like a damn faucet and you hit that hard head of yours, just calm down."

The words barely penetrate through Dean's frantic thoughts of Sam lying motionless, bloodless, in a hospital bed with no breath and no pulse. But somehow it gets through and Dean pauses and tries to take it in.

"Sammy's alive?" Dean gasps and then chokes because sure enough, there's blood running down the back of his throat from his bleeding nose.

"Yeah, son, he's alive," Bobby replies softly as he helps Dean roll onto his side so he can control his nose bleed, "He's awake too, woke up about the same time you took a header to the floor, and did your impression of a dying fish. Damn near gave me a heart attack."

From the ground Dean tries to look around all the nurses that are crowding his brother's bed to get a glimpse of Sam. Things have seemed to calm down a bit and he can hear bits and pieces of their conversation, things like "miracle" and "thank God his brother wouldn't let us pull the plug."

Damn straight.

"Awake?" Dean repeats breathlessly as he holds his nose and stares at the bubble of people around Sam's bed.

"Yeah. Don't know what kind of condition he's in or anything, the machines started going off and the next thing you know this whole place is crawling with nurses," Bobby says as he keeps a steadying hand on Dean's back.

Dean nods and then blinks as feet appear in front of him. He follows the feet up to legs and eventually up to a white lab coat. It's Sam's main doctor, the jackass that Dean punched some odd days ago.

"Are you alright?" The doctor asks with a frown as he crouches down to get a better look at Dean, who looks like a homicide victim with all the blood coming out of his nose and running over his lips.

"I'm fine," Dean states with conviction and a glare, "how's my brother?"

The Doctor sighs, "Well, it's a miracle, that's for sure. I'm not sure how to explain it but he seems to be just fine. We'll need to run some tests to make sure that his brain didn't suffer any effects from the coma, and that his wounds healed correctly. He's also in need of some serious nutrition but I'd say that he's well on his way to a complete recovery."

Dean huffs out a wet, relieved laugh and then slowly moves to stand up. Bobby mutters "stubborn idjit" under his breath as he grabs Dean under his arm and helps haul him upright.

Dean has to blink spots from his eyes as soon as he's standing but he's proud of the fact that he doesn't topple right back over. Apparently, coming back from…where ever the hell Sam had them is one rough trip. What Dean doesn't get is the fact that they both took the plunge, so by all logic, they should both be dead and doing the hellfire rumba. How the hell did they both come back alive? For now, Dean decides not to question it as he falls back into 'his' chair and latches his hand onto Sam's arm, which for once, is warm. The last remaining nurse fills up some water and lets Dean know that Sam can have some if he wants and then leaves.

"I'm gonna go get you something for your nose," Bobby mutters before he disappears out of the room too, allowing Sam and Dean to have a moment.

"Sam?" Dean questions hesitantly, his gaze searching desperately over Sam's relaxed face and closed eyes.

Sam's eyelids flutter briefly before opening into slits, before they slide closed again.

"Come on, bro, don't cop out on me now," Dean murmurs and tightens his grip on Sam's arm reassuringly.

Sam's eyes open one more time and he flinches against the light, and blinks. After Sam works through the pain of the overhead fluorescents, he lands his gaze on Dean and his eyes widen to comical proportions.

"Nose," Sam husks as he gapes at Dean's face, panic clearly evident in his expression.

"Nose?" Dean asks and scrunches his face before he remembers that it looks like someone bashed in his face with a baseball bat, "Oh yeah, that. Gnarly, huh? Don't worry, it's nothing. Just hit the floor wrong or something. Bobby's bringing something back to take care of it."

Sam frowns at that, clearly confused, but he presses on, "What happened?"

"Well, first you tried to hustle a few wannabe Jackie Chan's, which is about the smartest thing you've ever done," Dean says sarcastically with a bitter smile, which immediately falls as he continues, "Then, uh…there was a fight and one of them stuck you in the back with a pocket knife."

Dean's throat closes up with a combination of lingering fear, panic and anger as the scene in the alley replays itself in his head, "You've been in the hospital ever since."

"How long?" Sam rasps after the pieces fall into place for him

Dean's lips purse as he tries to control his emotions, "A little over three weeks."

Sam's eyes do another anime impression while Dean frowns, and wonders if Sam remembers anything from when he was in the coma, like wanting to jump off a free floating floor in space.

Sam must be reading his mind because he asks "Floor?" and then coughs, making Dean immediately jump up to get him some water.

He comes back and puts the straw within reach of Sam, "Don't know, man. But one thing's for sure, when we get out of here? We are having one serious talk."

Sam glances up and comes face to face with Dean's "I'm your big brother and you're not getting out of this one" look. Sam directs his gaze back down, caught somewhere between disappointment and shame.

"Hey," Dean says softly but sternly as he sinks back down in the chair, "I don't know how much you remember of it but I meant everything I said. We have a lot of shit to work through but we'll do it. What you were about to do…"

"Dean…"

Dean continues firmly as if Sam never tried to interrupt, "It's not an option, not ever, I don't care how bad things get. And if you ever think of doing something like it again? I'll kick your ass."

Sam stares at him for a moment longer before smiling, a real, wide smile that Dean hasn't seen in a long time, "You're such a girl now days."

"Shut up," Dean says with his own smile as he flicks Sam's ear.

Sam flinches slightly but laughs, "Seriously, dude, I think you're really starting to love chick flick moments."

"Sam, I swear to God I will let some old wrinkly dude give you a sponge bath if you don't knock it off."

Sam laughs again and for the first time in almost four weeks, Dean feels the knot in his chest release.

**Three days later.**

"You ready to blow this joint?"

Sam's sitting on his bed, fully dressed and still pale but looking like a human again. Bobby left the day before with hugs and a demand that they take it easy and "let him know how they're doing when they're not playing ding-dong-ditch with death, idjits."

"Hell yeah," Sam says and smiles.

"Good. I'm going to get the paper work filled out so we can get out of here," Dean replies as he glares at the room.

Sam stares at his brother for a second and takes in the remaining dark smudges of his eyes and his thinner frame. From what he's gathered from the nurses, Bobby, and Dean himself, his brother didn't bother to take care of himself while Sam was out for the count. It simultaneously makes Sam feel all warm and fuzzy while irritating him to no end. Dean is notorious for ignoring his own needs and pain but sometimes, Sam wishes he would just stuff his pride and think of himself.

"Dude, are you listening?"

"What?" Sam asks and then blinks, realizing that Dean is now right in front of him instead of darkening the doorway.

Dean frowns, worry shinning through his eyes, "You ok? We can stay, you know, if you're not good to go yet."

Sam barks out a laugh, "Trust me, four weeks lying on my back is plenty of time. I'm fine."

Dean looks unsure but nods and turns to go out the door, "be back in ten."

Sam watches him leave with a slight frown. He'd never tell Dean but he feels weird, like he's only partly there or like he's watching everything from the outside. He doesn't know if he's just still a little off from being in a coma for almost four weeks or if he came crashing back from that alternate plane wrong. The fact that Dean's acting so…pre-hell Dean is only feeding his theory that something is seriously off. Like maybe when he fell off the floor he just fell into a different plane.

"You really do over think things, don't you?"

Sam jumps off the bed and turns around, wincing at the fast motion. Ethan is standing on the other side of the bed, with the same old amused smile on his face.

"Don't pull anything, man, you just got back," Ethan says and leans against the wall behind him, crossing his arms.

"What are you doing here?" Sam asks, a small pit of nervousness forming in his stomach.

Ethan shrugs, "I thought you'd have questions, figured I'd help you out. I am still your Guardian, you know."

"So what, you're going to be sitting on my shoulder from here on out?" Sam demands as he briefly wonders if he's ok with that idea or not.

"Hardly," Ethan grins, "This is probably the last time we'll cross paths. That is, unless you end up between life and death again, in which case, we'll be right back where we started."

Sam doesn't respond to that and Ethan continues, "So, you're probably wondering what you're doing back on earth instead of doing time in hell, right?"

Sam nods slowly, "Yeah, kinda."

"That's an easy one. I went against regulations," Ethan states definitively with a small grin that has traces of pride in it.

Sam blinks, "Regulations?"

Ethan lets out a short half laugh, "Yeah, dude, regulations. Everyone has rules, you know?"

"And you broke them?"

Ethan nods, "totally."

"I don't understand, why? How?" Sam asks as he frowns.

"What can I say? I like you, kid. It wasn't your time to go yet," Ethan says nonchalantly even though his eyes are really meeting Sam's anymore.

"Wasn't my time to go?" Sam repeats slowly, "So what, you saved me?"

"Yeah, yanked you out, plucked you right out of the air by your shirt collar…so to speak."

"What was all that crap you spouted off about things being so bad up here and that I'd be better off not coming back?" Sam demands, anger creeping into his voice

"The truth," Ethan replies immediately and firmly, "Things are shit here and everything you're doing is wrong, and you know it. But that's not what it's about."

"Then what is it about?"

Ethan shakes his head, "I didn't really get it before. I mean, I saw the negative because that's what I'm trained to see. Death is a business, you know? And souls are in high demand."

"I thought you said you couldn't make choices for people?"

"I can't, but I can influence and I can make them see the truths that they refuse to see. So everything I told you? Completely true…except one thing, the thing I didn't get before," Ethan says as he pushes himself off the wall and makes his way around the hospital bed, "I was wrong about your brother."

Sam tilts his head, defensiveness unintentionally brewing as Ethan talks about Dean.

"Everything on the surface told me that Dean was going to be fine without you, that he could've let you go with a little more than a second thought," Ethan says and pauses to watch Sam swallow with hurt, "But Dean's a tricky bastard and he totally made me."

Yeah, Sam won't deny that and he gives a small smile in agreement.

"Everything on the surface told me that he had let go but really? The only thing keeping him going was you being alive," Ethan states as he points at Sam's chest in emphasis.

"Me?" Sam repeats dumbly.

Ethan rolls his eyes, "No, the other brother that he's spent his life protecting. Yes, you, you moron! Were you listening at all while he was down there begging you to snap the hell out of it?"

"Of course I was, but…"

"Listen to me, Sam," The seriousness of Ethan's voice and stare make Sam stop cold, "Everything that's going on in that head of yours? About Lilith and Ruby and all that other shit? You need to erase it, forget about it, and fix things with your brother, permanently. You and Dean have to stick together, do you hear me? You have to stay. together. no matter what it takes, ok?"

Sam stares as he tries to figure out if Ethan's words are advice…or if they're a warning. The silent confirmation in the Guardian's eyes and his almost undetectable nod is the only answer he needs.

"Hey, Sammy, ready to hit the road?"

Dean's voice sounds through the room and Sam jumps in surprise. Ethan's gone, vanished, as if he was never there to begin with. Sam stands there and stares at the spot where the Guardian was standing while his brain tries to catch up and put the pieces together.

"Sam?" Dean asks, this time with evident concern and suspicion.

Sam forces himself to react and he turns to his brother, smile on his face, "Yeah, let's get out of here."

Dean looks unsure but starts to lead the way out of the room, letting Sam go in front of him. Dean takes one more glance around the room, determined to bury the memories that the cream colored walls hold before shutting the door.

The room is immediately cloaked in silence and Ethan stares at the shut door from his position by the window and sighs. Seconds later, a presence stands next to him.

"You broke our deal, Ethan."

Ethan rolls his eyes, a combination of irritation and fear crawling over his skin, "Get over it. I made a choice. I'm not on your leash, you know? You're not my boss."

"No, but I hear he's not happy either," the man says with an evident smirk in his voice, "In fact, I hear someone's dropping down a bit on the Reaper ladder."

"You angels are real dicks, anyone ever tell you that?" Ethan snaps as he puts more space between him and the other man, "Look, we had a deal, I broke it, there's not shit you can do. Just because you spend most of your miserable existence playing a sissy harp on a cloud and toying with other people's lives, doesn't mean you get to mess with mine. Rules, remember?"

Ethan stops to smile victoriously at the man's furious expression, "I let Sam Winchester go because he didn't deserve what was coming to him and neither did his brother. And quite honestly, this whole 'burn the world' crap you've got going on doesn't sit well with me. But most of all? I just really don't like you."

"Mark my words, boy, one day I will find a way to snuff out that dark little light that's keeping you going and none of your Reaper rules will protect you."

Ethan smiles wider, "Well until that time, Uriel, you can just suck it."

Uriel lunges for the Guardian but Ethan's gone, leaving behind echoes of his amused laughter.

* * *

A/N: Epilogue next. Was that a good, at least somewhat plausible explanation? I hope so. Let me know what you think !


	6. Epilogue

A/N: Pudding!! Just in response to the few people who reviewed with that haha. Y'all know that it's gonna take at least 4 months for that to get old in fandom, _at least_. Poor Jensen, can you imagine the harassment he's going to get at conventions? lol. Anyways here it is, gang, the last shebang. Thank you all again so much!

* * *

_Brothers, Always_

**Epilogue **

It had taken a long time to convince Sam to stick around town a little longer, but eventually, Sam had gotten too tired and too irritated to care what they did. He felt bad about pushing Sam but he had important unfinished business to take care of, and his brother needed the extra rest anyways. So with Sam out like a light in the motel room, Dean quietly makes his way out the door and to the Impala. A brief feeling of irony sweeps over him as he realizes that for once, he is sneaking out to do something he knows his brother wouldn't approve of. He pushes the feeling and thoughts away immediately because they aren't going to do anything but harm, and he and Sam promised each other that things were going to change. And if Dean has to move a mountain, heaven, or hell, things are going to change because Sam had almost died due to all the crap built up between them.

Dean shakes his head to clear it before he puts the car in gear, and takes off towards Mia's Bar. While Sam had been under, Dean kept track of the news to see if anything popped up on Zeke or Greg. As far as he can tell, they're still free, unsuspected men who are flying high as a kite right now, because they think they got away with almost killing Sam. Except Dean had promised himself that there'd be blood and blood there will be, because no one hurts his brother and gets away with it.

He knows that in any other situation and with anyone else, this would never work. Most people are smart enough to avoid the places they almost commit murder at. However, he knows that Zeke and Greg are cocky enough and arrogant enough to go back and not only act like nothing happened, but act like they could do it again and it'd be no problem. Dean's about to cramp their style in the worst way.

It's 1 a.m. and Mia's is slowing down, which is exactly the way Dean wants it. Less people means there's less chance of witnesses and problems. He sort of took a chance assuming that Zeke and Greg would be there but he wasn't about to pass this opportunity up. Honestly, even if they weren't there, Dean would just visit them at home but he can't deny the poetry of getting his revenge in the same place that they tried to kill Sam.

As fate or luck would have it, they are there, shooting pool and having a laugh. Dean smirks in triumph, feeling like the cat who caught the canary as he stalks up to the pool table.

"No way, man, I totally called it. I won this round."

"Bullshit, you called it! It was the wrong pocket, moron."

"Dude, no one likes a whiner. Get over it."

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," Dean says as he smiles, his eyes glowing with deadly promise.

Greg tilts his head in annoyance but Zeke's eyes widen in realization, "You."

"Me," Dean confirms and then shrugs, "Figured we had some unfinished business, thought I'd stop by to see if you had the balls to tend to it."

Zeke's surprised look hardens at the challenge but Greg still looks confused, so Dean directs his attention to him.

"How bout you, Princess? You up for it?" Dean asks with a tilt of his head, "How's your nose, by the way? My brother got you good."

The pieces click together in Greg's eyes instantly and soon he's wearing the same determination on his face as his cousin, "Not as good as I got him."  
Immediate, liquid hot rage pulses through Dean as Greg gloats about stabbing Sam, and suddenly, Dean wonders if he can do this without straight out killing them both. Then he wonders if that was his intention all along.

"We should take this outside," Zeke suggests and then raises an eyebrow, "Unless you're having second thoughts."

Dean puts a cap on his anger long enough to smile tightly, "Get walking, Chuckles."

Greg goes out first, then Zeke and then Dean. As soon as the heavy industrial-like door slams shut behind them, the three men spread out and start to circle each other, sizing each other up and working on their defenses.

"You realize how stupid this idea is, right?" Zeke asks, pure confidence rolling off him.

"I've had stupider," Dean replies easily.

Zeke snorts, "Some how, I don't doubt that. How's your bro, by the way?"

"Alive," Dean snarls tightly, "Which is something you might not be by the end of the night."

"Big words, you sure you can deliver?"

Dean smiles, feeling the weight of his two favorite handguns at the small of his back, "I haven't had any complaints yet."

Zeke barks out a short laugh, "I like you. It's too bad we have to kick your ass into next Thursday."

Dean shrugs but doesn't respond as he continues to shift his weight, keeping his options open as he surveys his opponent's actions. Zeke is going to try to attack first, which is exactly what Dean wants him to do. He's not disappointed when Zeke strikes out with his fist fast, almost catching Dean's jaw in what would have been a bone crunching punch. Would've been, if Dean hadn't pulled his double Berettas and directed them both at Zeke.

Zeke freezes in mid punch to stare at the other end of Dean's guns in shock. He recovers quickly however, "Guns? Dude, that's weak. I knew you'd talk a good game but you'd never be able to play it."

"Oh don't worry," Dean says and pulls back the hammer of both guns, "I can play the game."

Dean quickly re-aims and squeezes the triggers. Zeke goes down hard, yowling in pain as he curls into a ball on the concrete.

"You son of a bitch!" Greg yells as he takes a few frantic steps towards his fallen cousin.

"Don't worry, they're just thigh shots, he'll live…probably," Dean quips with a half shrug, "You however, you're a different story."

For the first time since Dean's met them, Greg actually looks scared. Good, Dean wants him scared, no, Dean wants him terrified. Dean pulls the hammers back again and takes a few threatening steps towards Greg.

"No, hold on, man…"  
"And why should I do that?" Dean demands as he glares at the other man, "Give me one good reason why I should let you live."

Greg swallows as he fearfully stares at Dean, his head shaking slowly in denial, "Please."

"Not so tough now are you? How does it feel, to have the tables turned on you?" Dean asks menacingly as he takes a cursorily glance at Zeke, who's still curled on the ground, breathing through the pain.

"You made your point, ok? Just, walk it off or something," Greg half begs as his back touches the brick wall behind him.

"Sure. Just one thing," Dean says and then, quick as a snake, pulls the trigger.

Greg goes down with a loud yell that sounds more like a wail, but unlike his cousin, he remains upright due to the wall behind him. Dean closes the distance between them with a few steps and crouches down so that he's eye level with Greg. Greg follows his movements like a hawk, his eyes a mix of agony and pure terror.

Dean leans in close enough so that his breath dances over Greg's chin, "You knifed my brother and left him here to die, and he would've, he _did_. And now? Now my head's screaming at me to put a bullet through your head."

Dean stops to watch Greg swallow and to see his eyes well up with tears, "But I won't cause lucky for you, I've got a promise I've got to keep."

It's the truth. As much as he thinks they deserve to die for what they put Sam through, he promised himself when he got out of hell that he'd never kill another human ever again. He's going to make good on that promise.

Greg's face fills with relief as Dean stands and moves to walk away down the alley.

"Hey, wait!" Greg calls, "You're just going to leave us here?"

Dean stops and shrugs, "One of you has to have a phone, use it."

With that, Dean goes back to the Impala, feeling the revenge in his chest settle and disappear.

When he walks back into the motel room, Sam's awake and sitting on the bed, staring at the blank t.v. Dean looks between his brother and the tube before shutting the door and sitting on the opposite bed.

"Where'd you go?" Sam asks, his voice low.

Dean swallows, "Mia's."

No more lies, no more secrets, no more nothing.

"What for?"

Everything in Sam's tone suggests that he already knows why but Dean takes it for what it is, a test, an answer to a promise.

"Needed to take care of something."

Sam nods and looks down, "Are they…I mean, did you…"

Dean shakes his head, "They're alive."

Sam lets out a relieved breath and then pauses, "You didn't have to do that."

"Yeah, I did," Dean replies, "Gotta look out for my pain in the ass little brother."

Sam cracks a small but true smile and Dean figures for that alone, it was all worth it.

* * *

A/N: End. I hope you enjoyed it! Dean might have seemed a little…mean, but remember this is post-hell and well, he was pissed lol.


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